


The Quiet Promise

by orphan_account



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Other, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nic and Worick are young, around fourteen, and having to fend for themselves, even in poor health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a request. Angst happens.

Worick took another drag of his cigarette. It felt nice to not have to worry about getting his teeth knocked in every time he heard footsteps walk by the thin door. He'd only been able to afford a cheap motel room, although it didn't matter much. Since Nic was with him, it was almost impossible to find a place to stay that wasn't infested with something. He looked over at the small tuft of black hair peeking out from the scratchy covers.

He could never wish this away.

Even if his family was dead. Even if his entire life had been flipped upside down. He would never wish Nic away.

He reached over slowly, so as to not disrupt the small sleeping boy, and gently ran his fingers through the thick, dark hair. It was almost silky. A little greasy since they hadn't showered in a few days, but otherwise soft. 

They were both growing up. Nic had caught up to him, Worick wagered. He hadn't quite figured out a birthday for his friend, but they both liked to think that for a few months out of the year they were the same age. He laughed, feeling a dark pleasure from the way the smoke curled in the dark room. 

Fucking Father.

And fuck Gaston.

He sighed, angry with himself. He hadn't known that Gaston was Nic's father. How was he supposed to know that? It's not like that was a conversation they had. It didn't even come up until after... After... 

Worick inhaled again, enjoying the burn in his throat and breathed out through his nose, studying Nicolas's sleeping face. He looked tired, even in his sleep. Worick would have been lying to himself if he hadn't admitted to buying information on the gates of Ergastulum. He was determined to escape with Nic. If they made it one step out and died on the spot, he wouldn't trade it for anything to see the look on his best friend's face. Maybe they would make it to a field. He wanted Nic to see flowers. Not just a few, but more than he could count.

The bed shook suddenly, the tired boxsprings creaking. Worick winced, both at Nic's wet, hacking cough and the memories that came with the squeaking of a bed. He hurriedly put out his cigarette and smoothed jet black out of the way to press his cheek against Nic's sweat slicked forehead.

He was burning up. 

They could go to that clinic again. The one downtown, but Worick didn't like being indebted to people. Big Mama already had him under her thumb, and Chad... Well, even if Chad wasn't holding power over him intentionally, he still owed the inspector.

Nic finally stilled, but the wheezing and raspy whines hurt Worick's heart. They were brothers in this, and he wasn't going to let him suffer needlessly.

Worick glanced to the phone on the nightstand. A simple phone call is all it would take, and Big Mama would send some muscle to pick them up and get Nic to a doctor. The only problem is that one of them would have to pay the price for it. Everything was a business transaction with her. He had managed to keep wandering eyes and hands away from the smaller boy, but they were growing. 

Both of them had finally hit fourteen, and even though Worick was shooting up like a weed, Nic was making slow but steady gains. They were both almost 5'5". 

"I guess you need to sweat it out," he muttered, burrowing under the covers, adjusting himself so that his chest was flush with Nic's back. Everything was soaked with sweat. If the fever didn't break soon, Worick wasn't sure how much longer...

No.

Nic was strong. He'd make it. Worick tightened his hold on the small body. They were both so skinny, but he was still a little heavier. He hadn't even noticed really until now. It was almost uncomfortable to even lay together. It was all hard angles and bones. Nic's spine rubbed uncomfortably against Worick's stomach. Ribs pressed against his arm. The top vertebrae dug into his chin.

The phone was starting to seem like a good idea. He sniffed, on the verge of tears. Why was he so fragile these days. Why couldn't he be strong like Nic? 

Nic groaned, twisting in his arms, and a sharp, bony elbow hit Worick's hip. He hissed quietly, unable to bite it back. Dark eyes watched him. Almost unreadable. Almost. But Worick could pick out the concern and the quiet promise of pain on whoever had hurt him.

He laughed, half out of complete disbelief that he would ever be in this situation and also to reassure the young man.

The hold on his arm was too tight. 

He waved a hand in front of his face. "Don't worry about it. Just start feeling better already. It's a pain taking care of you."

Worick was certain his feigned nonchalance did not come off as well as he had intended, but the big hand relaxed. He released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding until it was spilling out. Like crying, but warmer and less messy.

His hip did ache, though. He'd thought he'd be fucking chicks left and right. What fourteen-year-old boy didn't want that? Oh, he had been such a _fool_. The majority of people Big Mama rented him out to weren't women. They were men. 

Most of them were kind and soft, but some of them -- mainly the soldiers that passed through occasionally -- were not. It was particularly bad when there was more than one. Mix that with any amount of alcohol, and there he'd be. Bent over. Although he had stopped feeling ashamed of it a couple months ago. What did it matter at this point.

Nic turned into him, working his head into the crook of Worick's neck. It was hard to tell whether Nic's temperature had dropped any. He was starting to feel woozy, almost out of it. He was probably getting sick, too. He wrapped his arms around the other boy's body, trying to not count the ribs visible through the bruised and scarred skin. 

"Don't worry, ok. I'll figure something out. I can take of you. I can take care of both of us. Just wait, ok?" he soothed.

He would shut his eyes for a moment. Just a few minutes. A nap would be good. Warm liquid dripped down Worick's chest, tickling his skin. Nic coughed again, shaking. It wasn't just from the fever.


End file.
